


Consequences

by Dontgotone



Series: Commission Works [3]
Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Bondage, CBT, Chastity Device, Extremely Dubious Consent, Hard CBT, M/M, ballbusting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-25
Updated: 2018-11-25
Packaged: 2019-08-29 01:24:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,163
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16734375
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dontgotone/pseuds/Dontgotone
Summary: Impactor and Megatron have done it all, and over the years found that the... spicier scenarios are their favourites.What better than Impactor having a captured Megatron at his mercy, and giving him back some of the pain he's caused.





	Consequences

**Author's Note:**

> Not much explicit mention in the text, but this is very much a "two males engaging if consensual if rough and rather violent play" scenario.

The wrecker crushed the last, drained can of energon against his helm and tossed it behind him, opening the door to his quarters and beholding his prize. Already his own modesty plating was dented outwards, the discomfort from the tightness of it only making him more eager to get going with the night’s main entertainment. There, tied to his berth, was the once great gladiator, the warlord, the poet. Megatron himself. 

The old silver bot’s legs were hanging off the berth, tied to it’s base and forced to spread wide. His arms were tied behind his head, wrists together and locked against the back of his neck. But what drew Impactor’s attention the most was the device making him groan and shudder and look at him with such a hunger in his optics. A heavy, fist-sized steel ball on the end of a short chain tied to a spinning wheel. The rotation took it up, over the wheel… and then it tipped over and slammed down against Megatron’s crotch, denting his modesty plating even further inward. There was a clear groove where the repeated impacts had been doing their work. Almost as if he’d been like this for several hours. 

“Oh, did you think I was coming directly here?”

The fury in Megatron’s features was palpable. It made Impactor’s dick twitch even harder. His modesty plating popped open with only a little bit of discomfort from the friction caused by the outward denting, heavy orbs rolling out and thick, club-like spike already leaking as he lifted one booted foot to put it on the berth. He slipped one hand down, hefting his junk with a grin. 

“You thought you were finally gonna get some of this? Bet you’ve been reeeeaally feeling it since that time I sealed your plating shut… but the rules _were_ ‘winner gets to do what the fuck he wants’, right?”

Megatron didn’t speak, clearly trying not to make a noise throughout the heavy thump. Thump. Thumping of the device. It was sending shockwaves through him, but he managed to keep his shaking to a minimum. Managed to mostly keep his control. 

“Bet you thought when you threw that first game that you’d get a nice hard fuck and get sent off packing, and weren’t expecting some toys, some enforced chastity, and being so horny you lost the next four, eh? Now look at you, so eager to get me hot and bothered you probably got here a few hours ago while I went to the bar, and now we haven’t even started yet and you’re already damaged and bruised.”

Impactor ran his fingers along the sealed seam of the other ex miner’s crotch, admiring the look of where he’d welded it shut, the way it was cracked and nearly broken from the continuing thumping of that heavy steel ball. The way Megatron shuddered, how he tried to kick and fight against his self-imposed bondage, had his spark running hot. He could feel the intensity of his engine revving itself, preparing for the surprise he’d cooked up for Megatron. He’d never have expected this, he was certain. And while the gladiator, the miner, the poet had managed to keep his mouth shut despite the abuse of the device, now as Impactor gripped the modesty plating and tore it clean off, he roared. 

That roar got caught in a strangled reboot of Megatron’s voice box, static crackling as he tried to process the pain of the steel device completing another turn and slamming down on his now fully exposed junk. It missed his spike, curled downwards and held there by a fairly thick rod that was plugging the throbbing snake, by mere inches. With the way Megatron had been thrashing his hips, the device slammed it’s punishing weight down entirely on one of his swollen orbs, causing another shaking scream of pain to kickstart his voice again. 

It was all Impactor could do not to reach down and grip the orbs in his own palms. He felt his own spike lurch with desire at the sight. They were large, enough to mostly fill his palm if he reached out and cupped one. Hanging low enough to be covering Impactor’s prize, but tempting enough he didn’t mind. Shades of red and purple marred both of them, bruising from the impacts and the simple reality of having been locked up and crushed by Megatron’s own sizeable spike whenever he’d have gotten horny… and of course, wearing the bands of metal Impactor himself had locked them in. Each one caught in a crisscrossing prison of titanium bands, leaving only enough visible to see the damage that had been inflicted. 

Another rotation, and the bed shook with Megatron’s attempt to double over in pain. He cried out again, a little more under control this time, but visibly shaking from having received the heavy blow on the same nut as previously. And then writhing even more when those bands around both of his balls began to tighten, squeezing them with an audible creak of metal. Now that he was paying closer attention, Impactor could see just how the bruised mesh bulged slightly in between the bands, Megatron’s balls trying their best to escape their voice-activated jails. 

“I bet this has been a blast and a half.” 

He hadn’t been _cruel_. The bands’ voice activation was keyed to react to Megatron’s voice only, and only for an hour a day. Of course, that hour happened to be around the time the wrecker had been sending him videos of pretty bots getting their afts absolutely shredded by his own spike, or when he’d just set up a vidcall and jerk off right there next to the device, letting Megatron hear and see every ounce of pleasure he could wring out of himself. He also hadn’t quite told Megatron how the bands worked, but given how quiet he’d been, if heavily breathing, after only the first day, he’d probably figured it out pretty fast. 

Megatron twisted his hips, vents working overtime. His optics were unfocussed, whirring and adjusting, even as he tried his best to taken his more grievously damaged plum away from the automatic toy. The fight, the obvious pain, the resolution not to make any vocal noises… Impactor reached down for another quick stroke or three, letting the tip smear against his fingers and then pawing at Megatron proper. He lifted one of his nuts. Captured and throbbing. Crushed but struggling. It mostly filled his palm, and when he tugged there was a lot of give, the mesh sack holding the heavy pair allowing a fair amount of movement. 

The wheel had almost finished another revolution, and Impactor had to fight not to groan himself when his optics locked with the ex-warlord. 

“Time to get what you deserve, you dirty decepticon.”

Palm up, he held Megatron’s banded orb in just the right spot for the device to come slamming down on it. He made sure the chain, as it tried to follow the wheel and continue the rotation, slid between two fingers. And now he was holding one distressed orb along with the heavy steel ball that had slammed into it… and was crushing it further as it found itself unable to simply roll off like it had been doing before. The cords in Megatron’s neck tensed from the pain, and his venting was becoming irregular as he continued to fight against making a noise, but just as Impactor finally allowed the machine to keep turning normally, he broke. 

“Impactor... n... fhhh... Impactor PLEASE. “ 

Music to his audials. 

“Imp-AAGHH!!!” 

The terror of the war, the great decepticon leader, the charismatic, invincible warrior, threw his head back as the bands tightened further around their prey. Parts of the mesh seemed to turn white, the metal stressing to a point it seemed to be nearing the breaking point. Thankfully, Impactor was merciful. He knew just how to help. Pulling the wheel device away, he moved closer in between Megatron’s thighs, pushing them further open with his knees. He held the other’s package in both hands, palms filled with tightly banded orbs straining against their bondage. He could see Megatron’s spike, just above, straining against the rod keeping it plugged. He could see the fuel lines running along the entirety of the compressed sack of mesh, could feel the lines and wrinkles against his palms where the soft metal bulged out in between the cruel titanium.  
And then he clenched both hands into fists. Within an instant, the bands shattered, crumbling within his grip. But he kept clenching. Continued squeezing. Megatron thrashed against the berth, his bonds barely holding as Impactor lifted his head back, optics closed and simply revelling in the sounds of the suffering poet, the sensation of fuel lines under his fingers clogging, snapping. He vented out forcefully, fingers clenching even harder, and now he could feel the mesh deform between his fingers, desperately trying to escape his grip in any manner it could. 

When he finally released his prize, the remains of the bands crumbled off entirely, snapped off by the pressure he’d applied and no longer holding together. Megatron was shaking, shuddering, his voice box giving off sparks and static from the overuse… and still his spike looked about to explode. It was swollen around the plugging rod, dribbling transfluid around it, even as both of his precious nuts rested underneath, finger thick grooves visible along their surface. 

Even simply lifting them so he could have a look at Megatron’s twitching aft sent the old bot into a pained convulsion. Dark purple splotches were spreading across the mesh around those grooves, and Impactor grinned as he used his forearm to press the wounded orbs and Megatron’s twitching spike up against his abs. It gave him free access to the desperately twitching evacuation port. A hole that was as hyper-attentive and sensitive as the rest of Megatron’s button was pained, if the low, heavy grunt that escaped him when a single finger pushed in was any indication. 

“Sure you want me to keep going deeper?” 

He leaned forward, his arm, his upper body pressing down on Megatron. Pinning his hips in place… but most importantly, flattening his tortured balls between them. Pushing them back against his shuddering spike. And pushing his finger another quarter way in. Megatron cried out in pain and pleasure both, optics clearly unable to focus. He tugged weakly at his restraints, even gave a pained whimper when Impactor shifted forward even more, but the tight, hot aft was practically inhaling his finger. That was the aft of someone who wanted to be _destroyed_

“My… Augh... You… I can’t… FUCK… They’ll burst, Impactor PLEASE.”

Impactor leaned back a little, but then put even more weight on the other bot. He could feel both nuts flatten further, unable to keep their shape after their previous torture, even as this time two fingers slid in deep. Making up for a lack of lubrication with rough eagerness and aggressive scissoring. The tip of his fingers brushed against a swollen node deep inside and Impactor felt both nuts push back against his arm harder in a throbbing pulse that had Megatron venting hard for air. 

“Don’t worry, Megatron. If they aren’t absolutely useless when we’re done?” 

Another finger, hard, spreading him wide. More weight. Two sacks of mesh and fluid feeling like they’re about to pop.

“I’ll drill em till you don’t have a _choice_ but to get new replacements.”

The heavy pounding against the swollen node, the crushing, the cocky attitude, or even simply the visual the words brought up. 

Megatron’s spike, fat and thick, lurched and straightened, snapping off it’s restraints. The rod inside shattered, unable to keep it bent, unable to keep down the flood of transfluid and energon that exploded from it. He roared again, whole body shuddering as a shotgun blast of transfluid burst from the tip, splashing over both of their chest plates. Impactor felt his weight shift, the abused orbs unable to sustain his weight anymore and entirely collapsing as they forced their fluids out, crushed into unusable masses of tender circuits. 

Megatron’s vents were running on overdrive, he couldn’t process the overload of sensation, even as he reflexively grunted when fingers left his aft and were replaced with the heavy press of a thick, fist-sized spike. His own spike, spent and bruised, pulsed another short spurt of fluids. The warlord’s entire body shook with pain when Impactor pushed in, laying his body down over the immobile bot’s own and crushing the ruined sack of mesh with his hips whenever he ground forward… but he still snarled and bit and wrestled with Impactor’s glossa when the latter clumsily mashed their faces together. 

“Time to make me feel as good as I did you, you crumbling old bot.”

“Let me… Uurhgh... out of these and... ngh... I’ll show you _exactly_ how intense it felt...” 

“Maybe this time _I’ll_ lose on purpose.”


End file.
